Under the Bed
by Ammanalien
Summary: Rodney's in trouble... so what's he doing cleaning? A complex tale of mindaltering microbes, yellow mud and whump, whump, whump!
1. Chapter 1

Some swearing... pretty mild.

This came to me while looking for lego...

oOo

I don't like to clean. It's wasteful of _time_ and _energy_.

Just don't look under the bed... that's always been my rule.

Never have looked, never will look... oops.

Too late, McKay, you looked.

And?

Dust bunnies.

Tissues and bust dunnies... bust dunnies...? _dust_ _bunnies._

They quiver a bit... the tissues and the bunnies, blowing about gently as I breathe...

I know I'm breathing cos I can hear it.

Sounds kinda funny, sounds kinda... _wet._

I think I see my missing running shoe...

Ooh.. a jigsaw piece... I need that... should go get that... Yup, I really should...

Sheppard says you can buy jigsaw pieces on e-bay.

_E-bay doesn't work out here, stupid._

I'm not stupid, I'm... confused.

I think, maybe, that I shouldn't be on the floor like this. Mainly because...cos, I don't like to clean... I _never_ clean.

Think. Yes, think. "Gentlemen, focus." Elizabeth says that sometimes.

_She barely tolerates you._

Okay, _focussing_...

Eyes focussing... and blinking, focus and blink...

I feel dizzy, like I don't know which way is up.

_You're pathetic, you know that, right?_

Okay, floor is down, bed is up.

Floor's cold and it's making me shiver. I feel like I'm lying in a puddle.

I see my bed. Yes, I see my bed in my room. And I see under my bed because I'm lying in my room, by the side of my bed, and...

I _hurt._

Jesus, I hurt...

There's a metallic taste in my mouth and I feel like spitting.

My eyes are hot and gritty, I wrinkle my nose cos... I smell something bad, something that reminds me of the infirmary or a night club washroom.

Maybe someone dropped me from a great height, and I went _splat, _breaking every bone in my body... because every bone in my body aches.

_Always complaining, always whining..._

No, that's not what happened: I remember, I came from dinner, I had a headache... and a cough. I took aspirin, washed my face. I was thirsty, so thirsty, and I drank and drank... threw up on the bathroom floor.

After that... don't know.

Might be needing some help here.

Okay, let's call for help then...

"Hhhh..."

Where's my radio? Fell off of course, never stays on. Piece of crap...

_Never your fault, is it Rodney?_

Maybe I'm sick. John said... some things... earlier... at dinner. They looked at me funny, said I was being...

Quiet. _(Useless.)_

I said some things too... Sorry, Teyla.

Getting a bit worried now, not very worried - just mildly so, especially as it's getting quite hard to breathe. I can really hear it now, in and out, in and out, like rubbing sand paper, and like... bubbles.

_You should go, it's for the best._

God, yes... I'd really like to go now please, cos I think I just might be _dying_...

Shit... someone, anyone, please...

_People like you shouldn't even be here._

I need someone... please...

_You're pathetic, you know that... right?_

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading...


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

Earlier that day...

"He fell in a bog." 

"Sounds like McKay...", rumbled Ronon, with a huge grin.

Major Richards' team had just arrived through the gate. They had been investigating a wrecked craft on a nearby moon. One man had broken his arm after falling, inside the wreck. Another man had cuts and bruises from helping him out. Early on, it seemed, Rodney, on loan for the mission, had taken a tumble into a swamp. An image John Sheppard was enjoying immensely.

Sheppard and Ronon had seen the procession making it's way down to the infirmary, and John couldn't resist the opportunity for some harmless banter at Rodney's expense. He and Richards had been discussing the mission - and also discussing one Canadian scientist.

Major Richards stopped abruptly, and drew them both men into a conspiratorial huddle.

"How do you stand it, Sir? He's so slow. Clumsy, too.", he whispered, "On the way back he could hardly keep up."

Richards looked sideways at McKay, plodding along past them.

"Oh, I wouldn't say he was that bad...", John whispered back, then shouted, "You're not that bad are ya, McKay?", and John grinned over at the scientist.

Rodney had yet to say more than two words. They continued their walk, and John saw McKay up ahead. He seemed to be muttering to himself.

He was covered in yellowish mud. John wrinkled his nose. It smelled weird.

"Don't let Elizabeth see you like that, she won't tolerate you in the debriefing, smelling like a dung heap", Sheppard added, winking, and nudging Ronon playfully in the ribs.

"Why'd he go on the mission? He never said anything", asked Ronon.

"He shouldn't even have been there really... Michaelson couldn't go, so Rodney filled in for him at the last minute."

John noticed McKay had slowed down and was now next to him.

"Richards said you were tripping over your own feet... probably _complaining_ all the time too."

Rodney's reply was so quiet, John had trouble hearing it.

"I don't do that..."

"Well, you're not _always_ complaining and _always_ whining, but you have to admit, it comes up a lot."

Rodney said nothing, just seemed to walk quicker. He turned left, heading towards the mess hall.

"Where are you off to? Infirmary's this way..."

"I'm hungry..."

John looked at Ronon with a bright smile.

"Hungry, Ronon? It is lunchtime..."

Ronon grinned back, and together they followed Rodney into the mess hall, the weird smell wafting after them.

John's nose wrinkled again.

_Probably should have showered first, McKay._

oOo

Sheppard took Ronon's lead and piled a bit of everything onto his plate. Rodney just went for crackers and some jello. Sheppard was in full flow now, taking every chance to wind up the scientist.

"On a diet, Rodney? You know exercise is the key."

Teyla walked over and sat down, her tray piled with fruit. She had heard some of the one-sided conversation, and frowned at Sheppard.

"John...," Teyla sounded like a school ma'am, "stop teasing, I do not think Rodney is up to it today."

"Hmm, he is a bit... quiet", John observed.

Rodney's jaw muscles tensed.

"Not taking the bait today, am I? Sorry to ruin it for you...", the doctor said, icily.

Rodney's eyes were flashing, his forehead glistened with a few beads of sweat. Teyla searched his face, obviously concerned.

"You look tired, Rodney. You should rest..."

"I think he's gonna need it," John interrupted, his mouth full of lasagne, "It's not your fault, Rodney, but I think I see more gym time in your future..."

Rodney stopped playing with his food and shot John a sharp, questioning look.

John went on with a look of mock sympathy, "You are a _bit_ unfit, Rodney, you know that, don't you?"

There was a clatter as Rodney threw down his fork.

"So that's what you really think. That I hold everyone back. Hold the team back. You think you know everything about me, don't you?", He was standing, glowering at Sheppard, his hands were fists.

"Now hold on McKay..."

"No, you hold on. I don't have to listen to you. I'm not one of your brainless grunts. I'm chief scientist here, you and I... we don't even have to _meet_.. which by the way would be fine with me."

He turned on Ronon, "And you... you don't get to say anything, alright? Go back to Sateda, or go wherever the hell you like, as long as it's not here... You think I need any of you? Well, I don't..."

"I don't need your pity, either", and he shot a venomous look at Teyla, "You people are nothing without us. Go play with your mud huts..."

"McKay! That's enough...!"

Sheppard's voice reverberated through the room. Then there was silence.

Ronon's face was a perfect scowl; Teyla just looked bewildered, but John... John was furious. On his feet now, he grabbed McKay by the arm, pulled him around, his voice was low.

"You should go... see Carson ... see if he can give you something... to make you more _pleasant_, maybe."

Shaking off the colonel's hand, and with no more to say, Rodney left without looking back.

Sheppard watched him go, and to himself he whispered,

"Only... keep out of my way."

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading.

Sorry if Ch 1 was confusing... I didn't want to give too much away. Hope you're sticking with me!


	3. Chapter 3

A little swearing is all...

oOo

A clock was ticking in Rodney McKay's room. There was a soft drip, drip coming from the bathroom. The door chimed once... twice...

Then everything was quiet and still.. including one unconscious scientist, laid out on the floor like a corpse.

The minutes ticked by... the tap went on dripping... and then...

His eyes flickered open. He found he was now lying on his side, facing the bed.

_Hmm, still here then. Not dead... yet._

There was blood, next to his head... a lot of blood. He imagined he was only still alive due to the fact he was now on his side. The phrase, "coughed up half a lung", sprang to his mind.

The thought came to him again that he really should get help, but...he remembered...

No radio.

And shouting was so not gonna happen.

Already knowing it was pointless, he tried to force his aching body to function, to get his ass up and moving. But it just hurt too much, bringing angry tears to his eyes.

Blinking rapidly, he again took inventory of his under-bed kingdom: There was the tantalising and familiar shaped puzzle piece; the bust dunnies grazing peacefully on the prairie; his shoe, sitting...

No, wait... not a shoe.. squinting his watery eyes, he could see it was the wrong shape.

It was... his handgun.

He'd dropped it on the bed after the mission, it must have slipped off. Now it was lying next to the bed, pretty much like he was, but on the other side.

If he could reach that, then he could fire it, bring help... yes, it would work. He rolled painfully to his back once more, realising that staying on his side was probably a good idea if he wanted to go on breathing. For some reason, his whole body was not only aching, but was also slow in responding to his orders.

He tried to slide his left arm out and under the bed. His shoulder muscles spasmed and screamed, but Rodney pushed through it, knowing this was probably his only chance.

After all that agony, he succeeded in moving his arm barely half way.

_At least now I can reach the jigsaw piece..._, he thought miserably.

oOo

She raised her hand to the door chime, but stopped just short of it. Her arm dropped to her side.

She had been angry and hurt. Now she was puzzled and not a little concerned. Rodney could be the most infuriating and petty man alive, but she had never known him to be cruel.

Something was 'off', as John would say.

Not giving herself time to reconsider, she leant on the button.

The chime could be heard ringing faintly inside the room, muted by the heavy door.

She waited, then pressed again...

Sighing, Teyla folded her arms across her chest, the fingers restlessly tapping.

He was probably off licking his wounds, as she knew her other team mates were. In her experience, if Dr McKay didn't want to be found, it was no use trying to find him.

Checking her watch, she realised she had an appointment in ten minutes. If she stopped by the infirmary and talked to Carson on the way there, she would still be on time.

Turning on her heel, she walked quickly away.

oOo

Inch by inch, Rodney worked his arm slowly towards his goal. He found he could 'walk' his fingers back without too much pain, and then, of course, his arm just followed right along. Sweat ran from his face and stung his already sore eyes. His arm was beginning to tremble and his shoulder felt it would seize up any second, but he was almost there - victory would soon be his.

There... he could no longer see his gun, because his arm was in the way, his hand was right there... then why did his fingers feel nothing?

Rodney groaned in frustration: It was too far away.

Of course his arm wouldn't reach all the way under... he wasn't a baboon.

He made the mistake of trying to shout, "shit" at the top of his voice. He squeaked out the "shi..." part and then had a severe attack of choking and wheezing, which left him once more spitting blood from his mouth.

_Think, McKay... come on, you're answerman, aren't you?_

Somehow he would have to hook it, and drag it... but with what. He closed his eyes, despair threatened to overwhelm him.

That he felt terrible, was an understatement; he felt like his body was welded to the floor; cold and damp, his mud stained clothes clung to him; his eyes burned and chills ran up and down his back. He also had the feeling that his thinking was, and probably had been, a bit off.

It was hazy, but he thought maybe he and John had argued at lunch, he _knew_ that John had said things, but when he really thought about it, he couldn't remember him actually _saying_ them...

He'd called him _useless_... _pathetic_... always _complaining_, always... or had he?

_Not now, McKay_, and he dragged his sluggish brain back to the problem in hand.

Sheppard would say, "What do you have? What do you need?"

A belt! He had his belt... He could take it off, re-buckle it and "lasso" his gun... _Yee-hah...!_

_Wait, wait, wait..._

He looked down at himself; he had his right arm, but his left was stuck under the bed... his brain seemed to short-circuit at that little logistical problem. Maybe if his body was working half properly he could manage it.

He let out a frustrated, gurgling sigh.

So there he was... he couldn't reach the gun, he was feeling like death again, and his arm was all the way under the bed where it could do no good, and he couldn't find the strength to pull it back out.

_McKay, you are so screwed..._

oOo

She had come as far as the infirmary door and... there was Carson striding briskly towards her, he looked like a man on a mission.

"Doctor Beckett..?"

His head came up, a smile on his lips.

"Hello, Teyla, how are you?" She really liked the soft-spoken doctor, he always had time for her.

"I am well.. thankyou." Looking down she realised he was carrying a field pack - a dirty, yellowy field pack.

Carson asked, "Have you seen Rodney? I need to talk to him and he didn't report with the others after the mission."

Teyla looked back the way she had come and said, "I just came from his quarters... I rang but there was no reply."

"Hmm... maybe he's with the colonel."

Teyla looked at her feet for a moment.

She began carefully, "I think not, Carson. I'm afraid the colonel and the doctor parted on bad terms not half an hour ago"

She saw Carson's eyes roll up and he tutted irritably, "Aach, they are such boys, the pair o' them..."

She went on, "Actually... I was coming to speak to you, Carson. I believe Dr McKay is not himself, and I am worried for him."

Carson looked closely at her, "Well, now, that puts a different spin on it."

He fixed her with an intense look, "Tell me."

She sighed, folding her arms, the same way she had at Rodney's door, "Well... he had come straight from the mission to the mess hall, he was covered in...something... it was mud... from the planet. He hadn't even changed his clothes. At lunch he was quiet... I thought he looked exhausted. He was sweating, seemed uncomfortable... he ate nothing."

Carson was shaking his head slowly.

"Something's amiss here, I can feel it. You see this?" and he gave the field pack a shake, "It was found in the gate room... it's Rodney's. There's something about this mud... something that's bothering me. I was considering doing an analysis... after what you just told me, I definitely will."

Carson seemed to notice for the first time her worried frown, and he dropped a warm hand on Teyla's shoulder,

"But first we have to find the lad... "

Teyla did not hesitate, "I will help you, Carson."

She would miss her appointment after all.

oOo

"Dr Weir, I'm getting reports of shots fired...", the gate operator paused for a second, and then gave the expedition leader a confused look, " ...in Dr McKay's quarters."

Elizabeth immediately touched her ear, "Dr McKay, respond..."

When she heard no reply, she tapped again, "Colonel Sheppard, did you...?"

"Yeah, I'm getting reports too. I'm on my way there... and Beckett's with me."

oOo

Firstly, he couldn't believe how loud it had been; secondly, how the glass had shattered so spectacularly with the first shot; and thirdly, that he had managed to get the gun in his hand in the first place.

Taking off the belt turned out to be the easy part. His right arm and hand were doing better, not quite so weak, not quite so stiff. Re-fastening it with one hand took a horrible length of time, time that Rodney realised he had little of.

He had sweated and panted his arm slowly back towards his body, just far enough to grab at the belt, catching it. Then he began the tortuous ascent once again. He had begun to feel light-headed half way there, like he was going to pass out... only the thought of rescue had kept him focussed.

Now, after firing off three shots, and sending up a tiny prayer - to someone - he could see whisps of smoke curling beneath the bed. His index finger still rested on the trigger. The belt trick had worked, and he had got the weapon a good fifteen inches closer. He had got the gun into his left hand underneath the bed, and had screwed his eyes up in order to sight towards the balcony window. Flicking of the safety had been tricky, firing the gun had been easy.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, as he began to realise exactly what he had accomplished.

He felt ecstatic... he was going to be rescued.

Carson would come, they'd all come...

He rolled his head, and looked expectantly at the door...

Long moments passed... something was niggling at him... a little worry had crept into his muddled mind... something he needed to remember...

Then came a terrible realisation.

Several months ago he had become convinced that some person or persons were sneaking into his room. He didn't know who, he had his suspicions. As a result he had made some 'special' modifications to his door. He put in a lock that not even the strongest ancient gene could override. As well as being easy to set manually from outside the door, it was rigged to set automatically when the scientist was inside, ensuring no unwanted interruptions.

Rodney let his eyes close, and he could do nothing to prevent the sob that escaped his throat.

They would try the door... and it would not open... others would try, Sheppard, Carson...Then last of all, Radek would come... he would shake his head sadly... he would say that it was impossible... the great Rodney McKay had let paranoia go too far...

...and it had killed him.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading...

I haven't forgotten 'perf. sk.'... honestly! But this one won't let me write anything else!

(A baboon has long arms... right?)


	4. Chapter 4

Some mild swearing ahead...

oOo

They found Sheppard, along with Ronon, in one of the rec rooms. They were not so much licking their wounds as inflicting new ones on each other. They were both puffing and sweating, their gloved hands flashing back and forth. It seemed that after the scene with McKay, only boxing would suffice.

"Is Rodney here?", asked Carson, casting his eyes around, anxiously.

John let loose with a left hook to Ronon's jaw, that efficiently and miraculously, took down the larger man with a grunt. He turned to face Beckett, breathing heavily and sporting a small cut to his lip.

"If he was" he panted, "d'ya think I'd be pounding on Ronon?"

Teyla flashed him a look of annoyance, "We need to find him, John."

John tore off his gloves, dropping them, and then reached a hand down to help up the now glowering Satedan.

"I don't _want_ to find him. If you want him, you find him... although I must say I'm surprised, after what he said to you, Teyla."

"He was not himself, John, and if you would consider for a moment, you would realise that too."

Carson tried a different tack.

"When you saw him earlier, how did he seem to you?"

"Would that be before or after he insulted Ronon and Teyla..?"

Teyla shot him a warning look, and John's expression softened slightly.

"He fell in a bog, off-world. Richards said he was slow, clumsy.. holding them up, basically. I ribbed him about it."

Sheppard now had a small smile on his lips.

"Just a bit of fun. Nothing we haven't done before. He's the one who over reacted and got nasty."

Both men were now towelling off. Sheppard threw his around his neck.

Carson's expression hardened, his eyes dark and flinty.

"So what you're telling me, is that when one of your officers informed you that a member of your team had been behaving out of character, after being exposed to an alien substance..", he held up the pack once again, "You didn't bring him straight to me, you decided you'd have a _bit of fun_."

John's smile had evaporated and he stared blankly at the medic.

But Carson wasn't done...

"You should have brought him to me anyway. You know the protocols, even if you do flout them constantly - he'd been off-world and needed a medical check. If Rodney fell in this... this... mud, he most probably ingested some - God knows what's in there and what it could be doing to him."

Sheppard raised his eyes that had become down cast, and had the decency to look embarrassed.

"You're saying he could be sick?", he asked, quietly.

"That's exactly what I'm sayin', and we've done enough standin' around already, so let's get to findin' 'im.", said the impatient doctor, still giving the colonel a steely glare.

John began, "Okay, I'll- " But he suddenly broke off and brought a finger quickly to his ear. He listened intently for a few seconds, emotions playing across his face: surprise, concern, guilt. Then he said, "Copy that.", and quickly turned to the others.

"Gunfire... from Rodney's room."

The information seemed to stun them for a long moment, and then somewhere in the middle of Carson's, " Oh, bloody hell..", Sheppard again touched his ear and said, "Yeah, I'm getting reports too. I'm on my way there... and Beckett's with me."

He gave Ronon a meaningful glance and they both threw down their towels, and grabbed their gear.

Carson turned to Teyla, holding out Rodney's field pack.

"Teyla, get this to Biro. Explain what you heard here. She'll know what to do."

Teyla simply nodded her understanding and left quickly with the pack.

The three men followed her out, lengthening their stride in their haste.

oOo

Somehow he had managed to pull his left arm back, towards his body, still with the Berretta in his hand.

For an indeterminate length of time all sense had left him; either he had fallen unconscious or maybe he was just scared, literally, out of his wits.

Either way, he came to himself, feeling crushed and defeated. He was still feverish, still dizzy, he had a raging thirst, and he could hear the disturbing gurgling of his lungs becoming worse again.

He really needed to be up: up, so he could get to the stupid locked door, and upright so he didn't drown in his own blood, as had almost happened before.

Surprisingly, he found that his muscle strength and response was a little improved. He could move without the stiffness and intense pain, but his joy was short-lived when he realised his body was totally exhausted; he would never get to the door.

Looking down, he saw for the first time his blood-spattered shirt and jacket, and beyond that to the yellowish, aromatic mud that seemed to cover him. He hadn't had time to consider what had made him sick. Maybe it was this mud... maybe he was contaminated... Oh, God, maybe others were sick too...

His thoughts were cut off by a cacophany of rapping and banging at his door; well, they had come. There were voices as well, but they were too muffled to be made sense of.

Without thinking he dragged in a rasping breath and tried 'help' once again.

"He-e-ep..."

This foolhardy action seemed to be more than his soggy, bloodfilled lungs could take. He felt a horrible constriction and bright blood once more bubbled to his lips.

The tightness in his chest grew. He was barely keeping the in and out going. His panic increased...

He was going to choke to death.

He had to get up and get up now.

He struggled, but managed to pass the gun across his body, to his right hand. Then, grabbing the edge of the bed-cover he prepared to heave himself up. He knew the nightstand was behind him, he just had to raise his shoulders, and shuffle his backside backwards.

With his right elbow bent, and the gun still in his hand, he pressed down with his right, and pulled down with his left.

Knuckles whitened,eyes screwed shut, he felt all his muscles screaming with fatigue, but he was moving.

His chin dropped forward and he saw through slitted eyes, his knee come up. His right elbow dropped, leaving him leaning crookedly upon it, sideways and forward, swaying slightly. His breath wheezed and crackled.

Looking down he saw his Berretta laying under his right hand. He had the foresight to flick it sideways, bringing it to rest close to his side.

Then... he coughed.

When the clotted, unpleasant mess, of dark blood landed perilously close to his right hand, he was glad he'd had the good sense to move his gun. It was no wonder he was having trouble breathing.

He allowed his upper body to fall back, and his head hit the nightstand with a loud thud.

He felt sick as a dog and was so wretchedly weary, that he could feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

_Please, please come get me..._

oOo

By the time the three men got to Rodney's hallway, John could see there was already a small group of people ineffectually knocking and calling at McKay's door. Some of Carson's staff stood ready with gurneys and medical bags. As they drew near, John was listening in to Elizabeth and Carson, conferring urgently by radio.

"Carson, do I need to be concerned about a city-wide infection?"

Carson's head was down, hand at his ear, as he strode along. He shook his head, "Dr Biro will hopefully tell us more, but if we were dealing with an airborne pathogen, others would be falling ill by now. There's a good chance only Rodney has been affected. Remember, too, we don't know for sure yet if he's sick."

"He did shoot out his window...", said Ronon, slowly.

"Well, maybe he's just pissed at us.. me.", John shot back.

The Satedan's eyes narrowed, his head tilted, "You really believe that?"

John seemed to consider this for a split second...

John thought, _of course I don't... this is McKay._

"No, lets get in there."

Sheppard moved past the medics and palmed the mechanism, thinking 'open'.

Nothing happened.

"Okay...why is this not opening?", he demanded irritably, of no one in particular. He was now thinking, 'open damn you'.

"He's set the extra lock."

They all turned to see Radek hurrying up to them, out of breath and looking worried.

"I think I can explain this." and he turned to the colonel.

"You know the... games... between him and marines. They like to... _wind up him_?"

"_Wind him up_, Radek", corrected Sheppard.

"Well, this is Rodney we are talking about. He thought marines were taking Oh Henry's from out of his room. He designed secondary lock. He showed me the encryption that he used, bragged to me no one could crack it, not even you, Colonel."

John simply raised his eye brows and looked unconvinced.

"If he has engaged this lock, then he is only one who can open door. If he has not opened door then it is almost certainly because he is unable to. Even if you could crack the code, it would take too long..."

At this point, Radek took a life sign detector from his pocket and thrust it towards John, showing him the screen.

"One life sign, but it is weak... Rodney runs out of time."

Suddenly, Ronon interrupted,

"Of course, we could always go for the direct approach...", and Ronon grinned as he nodded and indicated farther down the hall. Everyone turned and saw Major Lorne, accompanied by a burly sergeant, coming towards them. They were weighed down by gas tanks and burners.

"Sir, I thought you might be needing these.", Lorne said confidently.

oOo

Dr Hannah Biro sat in one of the many research labs, hunched over her microscope, motionless but for the intricate movements required to adjust focus.

She had sampled the substance, prepared it for analysis and was now performing various tests and procedures to determine it's nature. There was an urgency involved; Teyla had told her of their anxiety over Dr McKay, so she had made the assumption that the substance contained a pathogenic agent and set about finding it.

She did not have far to look.

She leaned back suddenly in her chair, wincing as her back protested. In her spidery hand she scribbled down some final notes, and then gathered them quickly.

Pulling down her mask, she flicked off the scope's lamp, rose and headed for the door.

Dr Beckett needed to be informed straight away, and she knew where she would find him...

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Caution : big medical words and nonsense ahead...

oOo

The sergeant lowered his eye protection, and the cutting torch flickered into life. He moved into position and Lorne drew back. The hefty English sergeant whose name was Hawkins, estimated it would take at least thirty minutes to make a viable entry.

He reminded Sheppard of a building contractor he'd once known.

The big man had stood, hands on hips, shaking his head as he looked the door up and down. He sucked in air through two crooked front teeth, making that familiar whistling sound often made by tradesmen.

"You really don't want to be cutting through _this_ door", he said with a sigh.

By way of explanation, he went on, "See, some of the doors 'ere are thicker... more sturdy, like. It'll tek a while, Sir."

"Do your best sergeant... Carry on."

Trust McKay, thought John, to choose quarters with the thickest and strongest of doors. He really would have to speak to that man about his rampant paranoia...

Teyla had arrived with Lorne, and John noticed she was now standing a little away from the group, with her hands clasped and her head bowed. They were all worried about their friend... Sheppard pulled his attention from her, and turned to Lorne

"So, Major, what brilliant feat of mind reading brought you up here?", Sheppard stood with arms folded, studying the major closely.

"Teyla informed me of the situation, Sir." and he smiled across at the Athosian.

"...and I'm afraid I've been eavesdropping too. ", and he tapped his ear sheepishly.

"Do we know anything more yet?", he asked.

"Only that we can't get to him and...", but Sheppard cut off his sentence, as they witnessed the sudden arrival of Dr Biro.

oOo

By the time she reached the small knot of people gathered at McKay's door, she was slightly out of breath.

"Your report, Sir. I thought it best to bring it straight here."

"Bless you, Dr Biro, I knew you'd pull out all the stops.", said Carson wearing his most disarming smile.

She couldn't help the blush which started at her neck and just went all the way up. Damn it, she had such a crush on this man. It was a source of both guilty pleasure and high embarrassment.

She handed the sheaf of papers over to Beckett, who immediately began reading.

Biro looked up and saw all eyes were on her. She cleared her throat politely and gave a questioning look towards her boss, who waved his permission and mumbled, "Yes, go ahead... ", and went back to his reading. She turned to her 'audience'.

"I still have to finalise some other results, but I have identified what we are most probably dealing with. The mud contained a significant number of spores of an unknown strain of mycobacteria. The spores, if inhaled within a liquid, could be taken directly into the lung. Based on Dr McKay's experience today, I'd say that his fall into this yellow mud was the point of infection."

Sheppard closed his eyes and dropped his chin. How could he have missed this?

"Once in the lungs they begin producing a toxin. In the early stages of infection, the toxin could cause symptoms such as muscle weakness and coordination problems."

Richards had said Rodney had been clumsy... John himself had accused the scientist of tripping over his own feet... He realised that the doctor was still talking.

"But as it builds within the body, the brain would be most disaffected, probably causing emotional and behavioural changes... even changes in perception."

"Perception?", queried John.

"Yes. In other words his understanding of events could be inaccurate."

"Like he didn't know what was going on?", growled Ronon.

"No, at least not in the way you mean, Mr Dex. He would _think_ that he knew what was going on, but in reality he would be hallucinating at least some of it."

"My God... I had no idea..." Sheppard scrubbed his hand tiredly over his face.

"Dr Biro, when Dr McKay became upset and abusive, could this toxin have been responsible?", Teyla asked the doctor.

"Oh, it absolutely could."

Everyone took a moment for the doctor's words to sink in. Carson was still avidly reading; Teyla was looking at John, her expression unreadable; John was looking at his boots.

He had let a member of his team down... badly. He should have known McKay's behaviour was off and drawn the obvious conclusion. But instead he had used Rodney's illness to his own childish advantage. God, he was a jerk...

"What about his condition now?", John finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Well, the levels of the toxin may have fallen off by now, he would be more lucid. The fact that he seems unable to open the door is worrying, of course. He'd have - and I'm guessing now - a high fever, dehydration, nausea, muscle spasms, and breathing difficulties, but in the longer term...?", and she tutted and shook her head, "We're looking at serious lung damage. He needs to be treated... soon."

"Could it be fatal?", asked John, quietly.

"I really can't say, colonel. But if he's been infected, and has remained untreated for this long, I'd say he is a very sick man."

oOo

"OSCAR FASHION FAUX PAS!"

"ELVIS ATE MY CHINCHILLA"

The trashy mags never got any better did they? He'd been in this line-up for an absolute age. He yawned and hefted his plastic red basket higher.

Ooh, hot girl at 3 o'clock...

Nice legs, tall, blonde(of course)...

No, no, no, don't go, hot girl...!

He was brought back to the moment by the beep, beep of the scanner as the cashier ran through his items:

Two cans of tuna... beep beep, pack of Oh, Henry's... beep, thousand piece jigsaw of the Taj Mahal... beep, bananas... beep, Berretta hand gun (safety off)... beep, lemon meringue pie... beep.

(that's funny... don't even like bananas)

The girl placed all his items carefully in a brown bag, all except the Berretta which, Rodney was appalled to see, she just threw down on the counter in apparent disgust. Reading from the till and slowly revolving back and forth on her swivel chair, she said - around the piece of gum in her mouth -

"That'll be eleven dollars and thirty-three cents today..." As he reached for his wallet, Rodney wished she would stop the spinning, it was making him feel...

"Air Miles?", she snapped. She had stopped her nauseating oscillation, and had leaned in close to him - uncomfortably close, he thought, and unconsciously he leaned back. Her dark, almost feral eyes glittered and he suddenly felt... fear. His heart began labouring in his chest, seemed to be missing beats one second, then racing along the next. The nausea had returned and he wanted to leave now. The store had fallen silent, and although he knew there had been customers behind him, he could no longer hear them. A fact that left him unaccountably terrified. He stood transfixed, staring into the face of the increasingly menacing shop girl.

"They're here... you didn't know that did you?", she whispered, shaking her head.

And slowly as if it were an entirely unconscious action, she placed a fisted hand over her heart and began to rub.

"Who's here?", he managed to squeak out.

"They'll drain you..kill you..all of you.", she ground out through gritted teeth. Now her hand was splayed, palm pressing down and she gasped as if in pain, fingers curled and caught up in the fabric of her shirt.

Nothing would come out of his slackly hanging, open mouth.

With eyes widened in terror and focussed somewhere beyond him, she whispered, "Look behind you."

_No..._

"Go on...look"

_No...!_

"Look behind you, Rodney."

_No, no, no...!_

oOo

The noise of the cutting machinery, was really beginning to grate on everyone. Without knowing it, most of them had drifted away from the door area, but had remained close enough to see what progress was being made.

Carson was standing with the infirmary staff. They were conferring worriedly with each other, picking up various supplies, checking them, and then laying them back down.

Elizabeth had arrived and was talking to Teyla and Ronon. Maybe Ronon was telling her about his hairbrained scheme to have him and Carson abseil onto Rodney's balcony from a hovering jumper. John could see him standing opposite Elizabeth, his hands waving around, clearly explaining exactly how it would be done. She was nodding politely, whilst Teyla was trying and failing to hide a small smile.

Radek was sitting on a supply case, his eyes watching the flickering little dot that was all they had of McKay. Occasionally his eyes would stray to the crouching figures of Hawkins and Lorne, who were surrounded by a light haze of smoke and dust. John thought he'd never seen Radek so anxious...

"Sir... Doctor... we're almost there...", barked a sweating Lorne.

Sheppard strode quickly up, 'Report, Major..."

"We know from the detector that he's nowhere near the door. When Hawkins finishes this last cut, we just push the panel into the room."

Sheppard nodded, and moved to stand behind the Englishman, who was still melting a narrow trail through the skin of the door. He was coming to the end of the fourth side of the rectangular panel, and John made a deliberate effort to look away from the searing white light of the torch as it worked.

He could feel rather than see, Carson at his side.

"I'll be needing to get in their right away, son, you know that don't you?", he said quietly.

"I know, Doc.. Just... let me in there first... I have to be first... I owe him that."

Carson seemed to understand and he nodded, giving John's forearm an encouraging squeeze.

"Stand back!" This was from Lorne as he moved away to give Sergeant Hawkins more room.

The sergeant stood and removed his visor. He was sweaty and dirty, and taking a white handkerchief from his pocket, he gave his face a quick wipe. Then, steadying himself with one hand against the adjacent wall, he simply let loose with one booted foot, and kicked the panel in.

oOo

She threw the switch that cut the power, and tiredly rubbed at her eyes. With a grimace, she plucked the radio from behind her left ear and dropped it on the table in front of her; she found the thing almost intolerable. She waited for the green light to change to red, and then carefully pulled the rack of samples from the machine.

The lights were dim in this small room, and this, along with her very real lack of sleep, was adding to her general feeling of exhaustion.

She carried the samples to a desk, and sat down, flipping on a small lamp. On a prepared grid of paper, she began checking and marking off the samples.

These were the final tests - for the time being, anyway - designed to provide insight into the organism's last stages of development.

She was expecting no surprises here; extrapolating what they already knew, about this organism and several similar strains well-known on earth, the bacteria should continue down a fairly obvious developmental path.

She stopped suddenly at vial no.12... behind it she could see immediately... a positive result... the colour unmistakable.

Quickly checking the vial number... 17, she matched it to the corresponding test on her lab sheet.

Her breath caught in her throat...

That was impossible... unless...

She was up, across to the table, and scrabbling for her radio in an instant.

She had to tell them_...now_.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading and reviewing, you keep me going!


	6. Chapter 6

After all your wonderful words of encouragement, I neglected important housework and grocery shopping, and worked all day on this next chapter. What will I tell my husband???

oOo

His first thought was that Rodney had been shot, there was so much blood; it splattered the front of his jacket, his sleeves and, most disturbingly, lay in dark clumps around the obviously stricken man.

McKay looked terrible. He was propped up against the nightstand, legs stretched out, by the side of his narrow bed. His head was lolling, one hand gripped the bed covers at his left ear, the other... the other lay on the floor, the fingers curled around a hand gun - it looked like his Berretta.

His face was gray as stone, his expression was slack and the only movement was his heaving, bubbling chest. He was staring wide-eyed at John. He looked terrified.

Sheppard, still frozen in the doorway, said slowly, "Rodney... buddy... you can let go of the gun now, okay?"

He risked a quick, meaningful look at Beckett, and the doctor nodded in grim understanding.

"Don't.. stay back... don't come near..." Rodney's head moved weakly, side to side, his eyes slid shut.

It was then that a few things happened, almost at once. Carson brought his hand away from his ear and called out to the colonel, who in turn twisted around to look at the doctor...

"Stop! Colonel, you can't go in there... it's airborne.. you'll be infected!"

... and Rodney McKay opened his eyes and saw a wraith at his door.

In an instant, the Berretta was raised and a single shot rang out.

oOo

Usually he was ready for it.

In a fire fight or running from the enemy, you were always half-expecting it. Your body tingled in horrible apprehension, your skin seemed to shrink, in a vain attempt to pull itself from harm.

This, however had come out of the blue. Yes, he had seen the gun, but he never thought for one minute that McKay would shoot - especially not at him.

McKay had whispered, "Wraith...", a second before the force of the bullet, impacting his left shoulder, sent him spinning around, losing his footing and his bearings.

Trying to stay upright, but rapidly feeling his senses dim, he staggered forward into the room, and came crashing down across Rodney's bed.

Vaguely he heard Carson behind him shouting at the top of his lungs.

He was lying belly-down, his right arm underneath him and his head turned to the left. He didn't feel like moving right now. His left arm dangled off the side of the bed, and his hand lay palm up, close to Rodney's left knee.

Through rapidly blinking eyes he could see that he was almost face to face with McKay. He had fallen onto the bed more or less straight and was now parallel to the scientist. He found with distaste that he had a mouthful of bed cover, and he moved his head slightly, spitting fluff from his lips.

He raised his head and craned backwards towards the doorway.

"No one comes in...that's an order... command authority..."

Then, as his head flopped back to the bed, he added, "Lorne? Y'understand?"

An affirmative answer drifted in, and he relaxed slightly; Lorne was sharp as a tack, he wouldn't put anyone else at risk. The noises from the door receded. It had probably only been seconds since he had stepped into the room, but it seemed an age.

Turning his attention back to the pale face in front of him, Sheppard was a little startled to see a smile lift the corners of the scientist's mouth, right before his eyes suddenly popped open.

oOo

A dream. It had been just another stupid dream.

He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past little while, and would probably have enjoyed these brief respites from his situation, had they not been unpleasant and disturbing dreams. Hot girls and chocolate bars aside... they were creepy.

Dispatching a wraith with a single shot had been nice, though, and he allowed himself a small smile.

Opening his weary eyes, he found himself staring into the face of John Sheppard.

_Hmm... still dreamimg, then?_

"Hi, Rodney."

McKay just blinked.

"Think you could... drop the gun now?"

oOo

John saw Rodney's brow furrow slightly, as if he was confused.

"Yeah... me too, buddy. It's been a helluva day... but we really need to help you, so... please... put the gun down."

Rodney's eyes flickered uncertainly.

John was beginning to feel light headed. The pain was growing in his left shoulder, burning and pulsing to the beat of his heart. His arm felt numb, and the intense pain in his shoulder made it seem like his arm had been ripped off.

"Come on, Rodney.." and John was surprised at the lack of strength in his own voice.

"Don't want... any more... accidents."

McKay's head lolled to the right and he seemed to see the gun for the first time. It was lying on the floor, grasped in his pale hand. John saw him slip his hand off the gun and then weakly push it away with trembling fingers.

Everything was beginning to fade at the edges for John, and he wondered, idly, if maybe the bullet had clipped a big vein, which would readily explain his rapid heart beat and dizziness. But through the rushing and pounding of blood in his ears, he could still hear Rodney...

"I thought... a wraith... it was... no, a dream... it was a dream .."

"No...I.. I didn't...did I? Oh, God, John... sorry... so sorry..."

oOo

Rodney watched in morbid fascination as John Sheppard bled to death in front of his eyes.

The blood was dripping slowly, off the side of the bed. It also ran in narrow rivulets, down Sheppard's arm, to his hand, around which it was forming a small puddle.

He had shot him. Shot John. McKay still couldn't believe it.

Sheppard's eyes were rolling around in the palest face Rodney had ever seen.

"Sheppard... John... ", Rodney hissed out and grabbed for the hand that was lying motionless next to him. It was cold, but it was cold as ice to Rodney, whose fever still climbed dangerously high.

"It's alright... Rodney. I'm ... okay. Not ... your fault...it's alright.. really...", Sheppard's voice was slurred, whisper-quiet and weakening by the second.

He had to do something...

In desperation and fuelled by the horrifying thought that he had shot to death his best friend, he clawed the gun back to his shaking hand and flung it with all his strength at the doorway. Achieving an impressive distance, it hit the far wall and landed on top of the fallen door panel.

Rodney's right hand now joined his left, and together they pressed the bloody hand that lay slack in his.

"Ge.. get in here now...please..!", he croaked as loudly as he could, before falling into the wracking, tearing coughs that were, of course, inevitable.

oOo

That's how they found them.

When the hordes of orange-clad figures swarmed into the room, they found Dr McKay leaning forward, coughing up bright and frothy blood, and Colonel Sheppard laying as if dead, his hand in both of McKay's. They had trouble getting the scientist to let go, but in the end the hands slipped apart...with a wet squelch.

Teyla was there, so was Lorne, all kitted out in their iso suits. If it hadn't been for the clear plastic in front of her, Teyla would have stood with her hands to her face, and the tears now streaming down inside her mask, would have fallen onto those trembling hands. Then, maybe, she would have turned to the Major and without a word he would have taken her hand and squeezed it, and they would together pretend, that two of their dearest friends were not fighting for their lives in front of them.

Lorne was standing next to Teyla, by the door, having retrieved the gun from where McKay had thrown it. He carefully put the safety on.

Helplessly they both watched as two teams of medics worked to stabilise the two men.

Carson barked instructions, oxygen tanks were brought in, bags were hung, machines beeped and whined. Sheppard was taken first, rolled gently onto a gurney, everyone careful to avoid pulling at his double IV lines. His shoulder was strapped and heavily bandaged in white. As soon as he was in position a nurse, anonymous in her orange suit, dashed over and leaned heavily upon the colonel's shoulder with both hands,

"That's it, Lisa... pressure.. and don't let up till you're back there."

Carson then turned back to Rodney.

They had him on a stretcher, his head and shoulders raised. He was bare chested, blood stained and white as a sheet. Someone gently removed his oxygen mask for a moment, and wiped away the spray of blood that had accumulated there. It had been done several times already. He was hooked up to both whole blood and fluids, both wide open.

Carson reached behind him with one hand and laid the other on Rodney's forehead. He leaned forward and said gently,

"Rodney, you're going to be alright, lad. But it's too hard for you to breathe on your own. You need some help... just for a wee while. I'm giving you something to send you off to sleep, and when you wake, this will all be over... okay?"

Carson thought he saw a nod of the head. He ripped open the intubation kit, as he watched the nurse slowly empty a syringe into one of the lines.

_He was glad that no one could see his face... he could barely contain his despair_.

oOo

TBC and thanks...


	7. Chapter 7

oOo

Teyla thought it looked like the pasta she had once eaten with John - 'something-dinner', he'd called it. Lots of tiny stick shapes in a yellow sauce. Only this sauce was blue...

The room was dark, but this image, projected somehow to be almost as big as the wall behind it, was bright and clear. She could see Dr Biro as a dark blurry shape in the corner of the room, at present unaware of Teyla's presence. She had been passing the lab and seen the strange picture from the doorway.

"Amazing... aren't they?" This was the voice of the doctor, who was now standing next to Teyla.

"This is what made Rodney sick?"

"Yes... at least, this is what is making him sick right now - the fully mature bacteria. Dr McKay was first infected by the _spores_ of this organism... there's a picture somewhere..."

The doctor squinted down at the table and sifted through several glossy photographs. She picked one up and handed it to Teyla. It showed several large ball shapes. They seemed to be covered in yellow spines. Dr Biro nodded at the picture...

"They're found in wet environments, at the interface between water and air. It grows like a fungus, spreading across the surface."

"Once it proliferates in the body, though, it undergoes a major change. It becomes capable of transmission person to person, by droplet inhalation. Luckily for all of us, for that to happen, you have to be close to the infected person. Unluckily for Colonel Sheppard, he was pretty close to Dr McKay for a while."

She paused and looked carefully at the Athosian, "You've been to see them...?"

At Teyla's nod, she returned it, and went on quietly, "You should know, dear, that we are all doing our very best for both of them, and although they look...", and here she sighed, "... dreadful... They are both stable for the time being."

Teyla smiled back at the kindly doctor, and, after giving one last look to the projection on the wall, she left.

oOo

Two men sat alone on the sea wall. It was a warm day, the sun was hazy overhead and a comfortably cool breeze was blowing. Waves could be heard crashing onto the rocks further out to sea. Seagulls wheeled across the summer sky. It was perfect...

Both were enjoying double scoop vanilla cones...

...with chocolate sauce.

Then, one turned to the other, as if only noticing him for the first time.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question." answered the other.

"Well, I'm supposed to be here, 'cos this is my dream.", and he went back to licking at his ice cream.

"No it isn't, it's mine."

"No, no, no, no, no, _you're_ in _my_ dream,", and he punctuated the two important words by stabbing his index finger back and forth between them. Then he added, ".. .which is disturbing in itself, of course..."

"How do you know it's your dream?"

"Oh, come on, that's an easy one... 'cos I'm in it and I have free will in it...", and he raised his eyes skyward for a moment.

"...Watch this..!", and he quickly scanned the sand around their bare feet. Finding what he was looking for, he hefted up a sizeable pebble and pelted it up into the sky, where it missed a passing seagull by... well, a mile...

"Was I supposed to see something interesting?", and the other man gave an unconvincing fake yawn.

The first man huffed with irritation, and then, noticing his ice cream was melting down the side of his cone, he quickly slurped around the edges, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.

"That was just a fluke. I _am_ in control of this dream and what's more, I can get rid of you just by thinking you gone... watch... ", and he closed his eyes and raised his hands in a gesture of meditation.

After a few seconds, in which the second man licked absently at his ice cream, the first opened one eye and squinted right...

"Oh...", he said, obviously disappointed.

"Doesn't work, huh?"

"No.. not so much. Okay, then, what've you got?", and taking one last look at his now soggy cone he threw it over his shoulder, without a second thought.

His companion seemed unconcerned. He was now allowing his own ice cream to drip as it melted, making a sticky mess on the sand.

"Well, you see, McKay, I know I'm dreaming, because _you_ are wearing _my_ skateboard shirt..."

The first guy looked down at himself...

"Huh, would ya look at that...", he said, with a chuckle.

"It still could be _me, _though, that's dreamed it on _me_... did ya think of that?", he announced with satisfaction.

"You don't even like my skateboard shirt... plus, I'd say that one was _extra_ _large_...", he rolled his eyes and looked away deliberately.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No"

"Yes, you are... you are _so_ calling me fat."

"No, I'm not..."

"Yes, you are...!"

'Well, you shot me so - ha!"

This last volley, effectively halted the conversation for a few awkward moments.

"You don't look too 'shot' to me... fast healer are you?", muttered McKay, crossing his arms.

"That's 'cos this is a dream - my dream, McKay, so give me back my shirt and get lost."

"Actually, I'm starting to like it.. " He dropped his chin, stuck out his chest,and then grasping the shirt sides, pulled them as if to test the size.

The other man grinned, "Maybe we're both dreaming."

"What, the same dream? That's impossible..."

"Okay, are you absolutely convinced that it's yours?", asked Sheppard.

"Yes! Isn't that what I said?"

"... and I am equally convinced it's mine, so..."

"So what?"

"_So_, you _are_ under the influence of an alien bug, and I probably have it too by now, so... who knows?"

"Hmmm..."

Both men leaned back on their hands, their feet dangling, kicking about in the warm sand. McKay dropped his head back and sighed, letting his eyes close.

"It's nice here... isn't it?"

"Yeah...", and Sheppard sighed too, " It's pretty nice."

"Sorry I shot you."

"Sorry I called you fat."

"See, I _knew_ that's what you meant...!'

oOo

She had gone to both isolation rooms. John had looked bad...McKay worse, and again she was overcome by unexpected emotion, and was compelled to find a quiet corner for a while.

They were both peaceful, but their eyes fluttered beneath pale lids, as if their minds were still firing off and throwing thoughts around.

She wanted to touch them. Carson had said she could suit up and go in, but that's not what she wanted. She wanted to feel the life still flowing through them, reassure them with her life force, and somehow, summon them back towards home, family and healing.

Later, she would light two candles and send up a prayer for both her friends, and hope the Ancestors were listening.

oOo

Sheppard and McKay were still sitting on the wall, kicking up the sand and throwing stones at the tide. The weather had turned cooler; clouds had begun moving in, now and again covering the sun.

"Maybe we should try to get back."

"But we are back, we have our own matching isolation rooms by now..."

"You know what I mean. Like on tv - you know, someone would say, " Oh, Lance, it's not your time, you have to go back" or "Don't go into the light, Grandpa".

"There's only you and me here, Rodney."

"Well, lets- I don't know- listen a bit.. see if we can hear anything... you know, like Carson calling us back..."

So they did just that for a few minutes, both of them wondering why it was that they lifted their eyes skyward while they listened.

"Well, I still think we need to find our way back... it's in all the movies.", Rodney huffed.

John leaned back, his forearms and hands flat down on the warm concrete.

"Look, we can't go yet, we haven't seen any hot girls."

"Well, I do usually... hot girls?.. I never said anything about hot girls...", and Rodney looked at Sheppard, suddenly suspicious.

"You don't have to, McKay, we're guys.. right?"

"I never told you I dreamed of hot girls..."

"Yes, you did.!.. you must have... you're always going on about hot girls..."

"This _is_ my dream... and you're not here at all, so why are you keeping me here?", Rodney accused and there was a panicked edge to his voice.

"I'm doing no such thing...so we both dream about hot girls, so what?"

The wind had really picked up now, the sea was much closer all of a sudden. Spray from huge breakers was now reaching them.

"Maybe we should think of moving...", John said, suddenly concerned at the proximity of the waves.

"No, I like it... it's bracing... I used to live by the sea, you know, it's in my blood..."

"Huh, just because... " John stopped and turned to the scientist, sobering suddenly, "You never lived by the sea, Rodney."

There was a long pause during which McKay simply stared at Sheppard. Then, he grinned, slapped a hand over his mouth in mock surprise and squeaked,

"Oops! Got me that time...Course I never lived by the sea... I hate the sea..."

Laughing, McKay scrambled to his feet, his face crumpled against the gale that was blowing in from the churning waves. The wind whipped his jacket open and John saw with a growing sense of foreboding, the Berretta pushed into the waist band of McKay's pants.

John stood too, and saw that the waves were now breaking directly onto the wall and that there was no beach left, only rolling ocean. He looked once more at McKay, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head slowly.

"What? Still don't get it do you..." and Rodney sighed theatrically.

"Turns out, you were right, Sheppard... it _is_ your dream. We're not sharing it, our minds aren't linked in some bizarre alien way, it's not even a 'choose life or choose death' thing... it's all going on in _here_..." , and McKay's hands sketched around John's head, dramatically.

"You see, John, you're not well.", he said mournfully, and carefully, but deliberately, took John's left hand in his right, squeezing hard. He dropped his other hand heavily on the man's shoulder, grasping the fabric there. Sheppard gasped in pain, and saw a trickle of bright blood under Rodney's hand.

"I'm probably okay by now, but you... ", and he gave a sympathetic shake of the head, "I'm afraid you...are drowning, John. Your lungs are filling with blood, and soon..."

For a moment, Rodney closed his eyes sadly, but when he opened them again he fixed John with a steely and determined gaze.

"Soon... you'll be dead."

John felt Rodney's grip tightening, and found that they now stood on the very edge of the wall, the waves crashing and rolling beneath them.

Sheppard looked from the water to McKay and back again. He had no strength in him to struggle; Rodney held him in a grip of iron, like a predator would hold onto it's injured and weakened prey.

Sheppard's last thought, as his friend twisted his arm forward sharply, and kicked his legs from under him, was that the image of McKay smiling like an undertaker, was going to be the last thing he ever saw.

And as the icy waves swallowed him, he heard the rushing of water, the pounding of the waves, and the distant sound of McKay... still laughing.

oOo

TBC and thanks for stickin' with me!

(You have just visited microbiology la-la land... apologies to educated folks!)


	8. Chapter 8

Just a short one...

(Slight S3 M&MM spoiler.)

oOo

It was a garden. Specifically, it was the garden of the house where he grew up. It was untidy, but in an attractive way, crammed with all kinds of flowering plants - the perennials his mother loved, small shrubs and even raspberry canes and brambles. He was sitting, perched on an upturned flower pot and thinking that he probably looked like one of those tacky garden gnomes... all he needed was a fishing pole...

He was feeling... peaceful... yes, peaceful. He seemed to have no recent memory, or at least was unable to see back from where he was now or indeed to think of the future. Something had happened to him, something that had left him crushed, worn down and as close to giving in as he had ever been. That was over now, though, and he had come back to this garden to find that it was again the tranquil haven it had once been. He closed his eyes and saw the red of the sunshine filtering through, the warmth of the sun on his face.

Presently he opened his eyes. Flower heads bobbed in the light breeze and there were even cabbage whites flitting here and there. Rodney followed one with his eyes and saw it alight on a daisy, standing straight and tall in front of the azaleas. The daisy raised a green hand and batted the butterfly away impatiently, tutting and huffing as it did so.

Rodney blinked.

"Hello", said the daisy.

"Uh...what?", responded McKay.

"Are you hiding too?"

She was green from feet to neck, her spindly arms and legs wrapped in straggly green fabric, secured with what looked like tape. She wore what McKay would describe as a sack affair, in green velvet, tied with a green silk scarf at the waist - Rodney was willing to bet that it was a modified window drape. Framing her round face was a halo of white plastic petals that crackled slightly when she moved. Her face was the oddest shade of yellow; strange, but at the same time, oddly familiar to him.

Rodney felt sure, however, that the child's yellow make-up would have to be re-applied... it was smudged and marked here and there with the trails of tears.

"No", he replied , "at least I don't think I'm hiding. Why are you?"

She sighed and started to pick at the wrappings of one arm, whilst giving her bottom lip a little wobble now and again.

"I don't want to be a daisy.", she answered in a tremulous and forlorn voice.

_Oh, save me_, thought Rodney, and he looked around for a possible escape route.

"That's very... unfortunate for you. But, not really my problem, kid.", and he wriggled a little, shuffled his feet some, and huffed loudly in preparation for quitting his perch and getting the hell out of there.

"Do you have any candy?"

Rodney spluttered.

"What? Didn't your mother ever tell you? Don't take candy from strangers..."

"But candy makes me feel better."

At this, he chuckled a little and nodded,

"Well, yeah, I see where you're coming from with that one... works for me too. But I dont have any ca -"

As he demonstrated to the girl his lack of any sweet treats by patting down his pockets, he suddenly came across an unexpected but welcome chocolate bar.

"So what's the problem really?", asked McKay, skilfully diverting and managing to hide his treasure before the little flower spotted it.

"I don't want to dance. There's lots of people and I've never done it before. I was scared, so I ran off and came here. Is that what happened to you?"

McKay looked indignant.

"Do I look like a dancer?"

"Why are you here then? Have you been bad?", and her little face lit up with impish glee.

"No, I most certainly have not!", and Rodney thought, a little uncomfortably, that he hoped he really hadn't been bad, but couldn't of course be sure.

"Why don't you just go back, they'll come and find you anyway", he finished, a little grumpily.

When he saw her green shoulders slump, petals drooping, he relented a little, "Go... dance, it'll be ... great.", he said waving his arms in a fashion that vaguely suggested choreography.

All at once there was a whoop...

"_Oh, Henry_... my favourite!", and the daisy jumped and clapped it's grubby hands. She had caught sight of the distinctive yellow wrapper, peeking from his breast pocket.

Rodney sighed wearily.

"Look, if I share my candy with you, will you go back and leave me in peace?"

"Yes", said the flower immediately, leaving it's sunny spot by the azaleas.

"Okay... here", he said, breaking the bar in two and giving her the pick - which was only fair after all.

"But you know really, you shouldn't take candy from strangers...you know that right?"

"Mmm... hmm... but you're not a stranger, Uncle Mer...", she answered, chewing big, like a camel.

"What...?"

But she had already finished her candy and was now licking the tip of each green wrapped finger. She looked up and beamed him a huge smile, and now Rodney could see that it really was Madison.

"There'll be ice cream if I do my recital - Mommy promised - and I like ice cream... my Mommy says be brave, and you have to take the rough with the smooth...what's that mean?"

"That the good things in life make up for the bad things, I guess..."

"Hmmm... yes...what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you going back? Grown-ups don't stay cross forever, you know...", she said, giving him a knowing look.

"No. I'm gonna stay on here a while...", and he looked around at the pleasant garden scene.

Suddenly, Madison moved closer, and put a small hand on his shoulder.

"You should go back, Uncle Mer... they want you to. They're calling, can't you hear them?", and Rodney watched as she tilted her petalled head and lifted a green finger.

He shook his head, uncertain of what she meant. But he found himself mirroring her and letting his own head fall to one side.

Slowly, as if from far away, he began to hear something... something that did not belong in this flower garden. She was right, there were voices. Like echoes they bounced around him, not always too clear, sometimes fragmented and meaningless, but always compelling.

He looked again at his neice; she was smiling a clear, perfect smile of delight, like only a child could.

"See? They're looking for you."

Madison gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and suddenly turning serious, said,

"Whatever you did, say you're very, very sorry, and you won't do it again, promise.. That's what I do..."

Slightly taken aback, he asked, puzzled,

"And then what happens?"

"They forgive you of course, silly!", she giggled.

Then, with another beaming smile and a sniff of a snotty nose, she was off and running, past the hollyhocks and... gone.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!

(This was McKay's dream, for those of you who asked for it... thanks for your reviews, they really help!... x)


	9. Chapter 9

Some swearing ahead...

oOo

Waking up had turned out to be easy... staying awake, not so much.

Even with the noisy hustle and bustle of daily life in the infirmary, Rodney caught himself drifting and napping at so many odd times of day and night that he had trouble knowing whether it _was_ day or night. Carson had told him it was to be expected, that it was good, even, but Rodney just wanted to lose the fuzzy sense of non-being that assailed him, and get out of there.

He had awoken, by his reckoning... day before yesterday... probably... day before yesterday. He couldn't be sure, although he knew it was several 'nappings' ago. The clock on the wall opposite, was obviously defective; it jumped from hour to hour, sometimes missing several, and then crawling along barely moving for what seemed an age.

Since waking, he had seen some people, slept, had tests inflicted upon him countless times, and, of course, had been washed and shaved - the ultimate indignity.

That he seemed unable to actually lift a finger with any strength whatsoever, was a source of great frustration for the scientist. He was laid out in a bed, dressed in some horrifically tiny scrap of fabric, with no control over himself or who came and gawked at him. He was a man who valued his own privacy and here he had none. All he wanted was to hide away somewhere, away from everything... and everyone.

To be truthful, though, what he wanted most was to leave the spot they had put him in.

Carson had told him that they had found an antibiotic pretty quickly, to see off the alien bug. Once Rodney had begun to respond to it and his lungs started to heal, he'd been taken out of iso, had the breathing tube whipped out and was put here. A corner of the infirmary, out of the way - _a quiet corner_, they said.

But with one huge drawback: McKay had only to open his eyes to see directly into the isolation room of Colonel John Sheppard.

He was staring that way now. The pilot was still sleeping, doped up no doubt, by Carson and his little helpers. Rodney saw an IV to match his own, a nasal canula across his upper lip, and the white bulk of a skilfully applied dressing at his shoulder.

He had, apparently, shot the man... his rescuer.

Rodney found he couldn't look any more, and closed his eyes.

He'd overheard Carson saying that John would soon be moved out... that he too was no longer infectious. McKay hoped that didn't mean they'd be put together, that they'd soon be sharing this quiet and lovely corner of the infirmary.

Oh, God, he wouldn't be able to bear it...

oOo

His chin was wet…

_Crap, now I'm drooling in my sleep... I'll be sucking jello through a straw next._

He opened sticky, filmy eyes. Everything was quiet. In the infirmary there was the occasional, blessed time, when everyone, it seemed was needed elsewhere, and he was left pretty much to himself.

He focussed across from him to the nut-job clock that was ticking away, now in slow mode, having whizzed straight from two pm to five, while he had been resting his eyes.

_Sneaky bastard_, he thought.

It being just after five, however, thoughts of dinner time cheered him no end, until his eyes were drawn once more to the glass window, adjacent to the clock, behind which his friend lay pale and still, his…

Wait…

Rodney strained forward to better see. The pilot, who up to now had been still as stone, but for the steady rise and fall of his chest, was_… twitching? flinching_ ?

Rodney thought it strange, also, that the man was lying flat on his back… hadn't he been propped up before? Straining his eyes even more he saw why. He must have been restless for a while, because he had somehow slid down the bed. His head and shoulders were no longer lifted by pillows, and in fact some pillows must now be on the floor as Rodney saw that only one remained.

But most worryingly of all, John was very definitely coughing, albeit weakly. Carson had said that although Sheppard was responding to the treatment positively, his gun shot wound had depressed his system, and his recovery was slower as a result.

Now, Rodney knew little of medicine, but he did know first-hand about the particular bacteria they had both gone up against. He knew what coughing could mean, and he also knew John needed help.

Call buttton... where's the call button...

His hands flapped, ineffectual and weak, around the bed... the table next to his bed... behind his head...

Nothing.

Desperately he looked across at the colonel...

He was getting worse, he had maybe a minute or so before the blood could block his airway completely, this Rodney knew from bitter experience..

Now Rodney was gasping, in a state of high anxiety. His stupid voice was still not working, and all that came out when he shouted was a hissy, cracked sound, hardly loud enough for him to hear himself.

John was choking, he was dying... again. He cast around looking for someone, anyone... there wasn't even anything to throw.

_What kind of lame-ass place is this?_ he thought wildly

There was nothing else for it... it looked like he was moving, whether he could or not.

Okay, first things first... he looked down at his hand and at the blue port of the IV.

Gritting his teeth he pulled, and the little line tugged painfully, but then slipped out, leaving little drips of sparkly blood.

Not caring that the tube now hung dangling and dripping onto the shiny floor, he brought his arm across while grasping the covers. He leaned back and swung his legs around and out. The floor was cold.

There was no time to consider the wonders of adrenaline and how blind terror was an excellent motivator.

The thin, red second-hand was on three...

Now he was sitting, hunched and shivering like a geriatric, on the edge of the bed.

_Stop the legs shaking... stand up, God damn you..._

This was crazy... he couldn't even pee in a bottle without help, what was he thinking?

He lifted his butt from the bed.

The floor was tipping in a most disconcerting way. Moving in anything ressembling a straight line was difficult as his legs seemed to be trying to walk away from each other, but - halleluiah - he _was_ walking.

The second hand crept towards five...

There was the door... focus on that, McKay.

Ow!

_...and theres the wall_, he thought as it came crashing towards him without warning.

_Stupid wall..._

He discovered that leaning his back against the wall, legs quivering, he could slide himself along, and then it didn't even matter that the floor was tilting this way and that constantly, as if he was at sea. He stopped the sliding for a moment, leaning forward with a groan as he prepared to throw up all over the tissue that was his gown. For a fleeting moment he considered what his slide along the wall was doing to his open backed frock; probably better that there were no witnesses. Thankfully, the image chased away the nausea, so he tried to ignore the rolling of the ocean and pressed on.

It was taking too long... too long...

The second hand was on seven…

He could no longer see Sheppard, the angle was wrong, but somehow he had made it to the door. He was now standing – well, leaning drunkenly - directly below the clock.

Outside the door, to one side, were blue laundry boxes of various sizes, containing the masks, gloves and gowns, that were the essentials of barrier nursing. It was to one of these that he clung, as he manouevred himself around to lean heavily back on the swing door.

Too late he realised this idea had one basic flaw... he pushed open the door with his back, only to land on his butt in the doorway. Then the door swung back to slap him sideways and leave him sprawling and dazed, at the foot of John's bed.

How the hell would he get up now?

To come so far and then to fail, had tears of rage prickling behind his eyes. Worse, he could now hear the small, familiar sounds of asphyxia, drifting down from the bed. So familiar, so painfully familiar, that he grabbed at his own chest in sympathy, feeling the tightness, feeling the panic...

No, he had made it this far, against the odds - that, in itself, was a miracle.

He would not fail now... he would not fail _Sheppard_ now...

He rolled onto his side, and saw in his left-tilted view, that a chair was set by the bed, not three feet from where he lay now.

Focussing on this, he rolled again and as he couldn't stand, on his hands and knees he crawled to the chair.

Bringing himself to his knees, he clung there, as a drowning man would cling to a piece of driftwood. Sweat blurred his vision, but he could see that he was now at least where he needed to be. Only, before he could help John, he had to be up and on his feet.

With an internal voice saying, _do as I say… do as I say_… Rodney fought to control his own body. He brought a knee up, grabbed at the bed sheets, and in one unexpected, fluid motion, the grace of which astounded him, he was on two feet right next to Sheppard.

Well, okay, on two feet on the verge of collapse, next to the stricken Sheppard.

The colonel was definitely in trouble. He was on his back, chin lifted, trying to suck air through his open mouth. His body shuddered every second or so, as he tried to clear the congestion that was slowly strangling the life from him. There were specks of blood on his bluish lips, on the bed cover, on his hands…

Rodney grabbed the hand that John had brought to his throat, where it was clawing at the pressure building there.

"Sheppard…", he hissed.

McKay reached across and sunk his fingers into the stark white bandage wrapping John's shoulder. It was the only thing available to grab, as the man was bare chested, except for the thin white sheet over him.

"Sorry…", croaked McKay, as Sheppard groaned in pain. There was blood on his fingers…

_I tore his stitches_, thought Rodney, as his heart seemed to lurch and he didn't know if he would pass out, throw up or maybe do both.

He got him moving, though... rocking... and then... there...he was on his side, facing McKay.

Rodney scrambled his trembling fingers back over John's arm and shoulder, and, not being in a position to smack him between the shoulder blades, shook him repeatedly, punctuating his shakes with,

"Cough…! (_shake)_

you… (_shake)_

son… (_shake)_

of a…. (_shake)_

BITCH!… "

The last word was screamed – if you could call it screaming – and Rodney, who was now pretty much at the end of his rope, both physically and mentally, realised it signified his last effort to save his team mate and friend.

And then, suddenly... Krakatoa went off, and Sheppard was coughing... and coughing... and coughing... turning everything red.

It was at this moment that the recently absent Scottish doctor, turned up with an absolute horde of people in tow, and began shouting orders.

Rodney heard the thickly accented voice ring out,

"It's alright, lad … ye can let go… Rodney, just… He's alright, the colonel's okay… you did it…"

Upon hearing the instruction to let go, it seemed his body, although reluctant to do what Rodney said, knew enough not to risk the Scotsman's ire, and promptly switched off. McKay fell through the hands reaching for him, and landed face down on the floor.

In spite of the complete exhaustion he felt and the fact that he had face planted into something unspeakably gross, he smiled to himself because he knew he had done what he had set out to do.

Vaguely he heard, "No, leave him for now, he's better off down there, check his breathing, and just bring a gurney... "

"..and Rodney?", called Beckett, " For God's sake cover your assets!", and the doctor tutted loudly, throwing down a sheet, which was quickly and strategically placed by a nurse.

Rodney thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard and just laughed and laughed and laughed.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reviewing, you are so kind to me!


	10. Chapter 10

_oOo _

_09.00 Informed that construction work, including demolition, is to be carried out, contrary to Article 7, amounting to reckless endangerment and blatant disregard for patient safety._

The clock was ticking and that was all. Nothing else reached his ears. The morning sun bathed the walls in soft light. Through closed eyelids he could see an orangey haze. He was warm, comfortable, and basking in the glow that only recent heroism could impart.

Sheppard was okay, thanks to him... Carson had apologised for the previous afternoon's lapse...

"I'm sorry, Rodney, but I had nine people with serious crush injuries, and I'm afraid we were pushed to our limit. Thank God you got to him when you did..."

They had settled him back into bed, made sure he had not been too damaged, and then proceeded to bring in Sheppard, with excuses of, 'we need his room', and 'you'll have some company now...".

John had been sleeping peacefully by then, propped up and on his side, oxygen back in place, all traces of gore thankfully cleaned up.

There had been nowhere else to put them. The infirmary was full. An accident in the Athosian village had the place filled to capacity. It was the arrival of these patients, that had stretched the staff so far, that there had been noone around but Rodney to save the colonel from choking to death.

He felt sick when he thought about what could have happened if he hadn't made it. He was relieved, not only to have saved his friend's life, but also to have been able to make up somewhat, for causing his illness in the first place.

His quiet reverie was interrupted by the strident tones of a Scottish doctor...

"Mornin' Elizabeth...A-ha...They're both stable. The colonel is actually doing a lot better this morning... The bleeding stopped, and we don't expect it to return... They're in here together... we don't have a lot of room since the Athosians arrived... Well, yes... of course I can't say for sure, but I'm optimistic... a few bruises - and of course he was exhausted... A-ha... Yes, he's turned the corner... I will, Beckett out."

The conversation obviously over, Rodney heard a weary sigh from Beckett, then,

"Okay... let's get it over with, Melissa."

"What will you tell him, Doctor?"

"The truth, I suppose.. but he's going to be upset."

"How long will...?"

"Oh, only a few hours..."

Rodney roused completely in one spluttering explosion of bed sheets,

"Carson! Get over here! Am I dying? I am, arent I?"

Carson approached, already grabbing his wrist and counting, tutting away,

"For goodness sake, Rodney, stop hyperventilating... It's not always about you, you know..."

Carson's face suddenly showed an expression of rapturous joy -_ forced_ rapturous joy. He brought his hands together and clasped them; McKay thought he looked like a T.V. evangelist... not a good look for the doctor.

"Now then, Rodney", and he smiled sweetly, "You're going to be having some visitors..."

Rodney narrowed his eyes, suspiciously.

"There's a problem... in the air ducting or something. They have to get behind here," and Carson indicated the wall adjacent to Rodney's bed. "You'll probably sleep right through it."

"What? You mean they'll be working in here... where will you put us?"

Beckett pretended to be engrossed in the valves on the I.V..

"I can't stay here!"

"I'm sorry there's nowhere else. You have to be nearby so we can monitor you."

Rodney visibly deflated and whined,

"I'll go to my room... however bloodstained it is."

Carson folded his arms decisively and pinned McKay with a warning look.

"You're not well enough to be in quarters, and you know it."

"..and it's only for the morning.", he said, his tone softening.

He crossed the room and checked the sleeping Sheppard's pulse,

"I suggest you follow the colonel's lead and take a nap.", and with that, the doctor left.

oOo

_09.34 Without my permission and against my wishes, I am moved into close proximity to a seriously infectious person._

"Look, will you _stop_ that?"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're looking ... again.."

"I'm not looking at _you,_ McKay... why would I?"

Sheppard wearily blinked at Rodney, and the scientist could see from his eyes that the pilot was still unwell. Pricked, somewhat, by remorse, he slumped back against his pillow with a snort, contemplating the recent turn of events.

Carson had said to get some sleep, so grudgingly, he had. Then, after a few minutes of shut-eye, he had awoken to find his life even more screwed up.

He had actually been dreaming, pleasantly, of a hot girl... several in fact... and he came to himself wearing a huge grin, feeling warm and slightly frisky, as though his arms were still wrapped around Miss Ontario 1995...

He squeezed and found soft resistance, not melting away as a dream really ought to. Cracking open an eye he was faced with a truly disturbing sight: John Sheppard's face directly opposite his - freakishly close - and Rodney's arm draped over the colonel's shoulder. The warmth he had felt was due to the length of Sheppard's body lying right next to his.

To say he was creeped out and horrified was the understatement of the year. Snapping back his arm, he recoiled as far away from Sheppard as he could, unable at present to account for the strange occurrence. Was he really in Sheppard's bed? Could he now add sleepwalking to his catalogue of odd symptoms? No, not in Sheppard's bed... this was definitely his pillow - he'd turned the case inside out, certain it wasn't clean.

So, it was the colonel who was the somnambulist. No, again... there was the oxygen line - John was in his own bed.

Then it all became clear...

Their beds had been pushed together, and they now lay side by side.

Not only were they sharing a room, but they were now, to all intents and purposes, sharing a bed.

How would he live this down?

oOo

_09.40 Workers arrive. Noise begins : 59 decibels, rising to 88 dbs on several occasions. A request was made to desist._

Then the work crew had arrived.

Radek came, told him not to worry - giggled a bit, when he saw them both - said it was not a scientific problem, just one of mechanics... they had their top 'drains and vents' people on it.

The infirmary was becoming a building site and he couldn't think what was more bizarre, that he was trapped, half naked, in what could be a hard-hat area, or that he was sleeping with John Sheppard.

"May I come in?"

A soft and lilting voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Teyla!"

oOo

She was sitting on the cusp as it were, crosslegged, on the join between the two beds. Rodney hoped they didn't suddenly shift, posting the woman through the gap and into the alligator lake beneath. Sheppard was asleep again, pasty face composed, despite the clunking and screeching as more tools and such, were dragged in.

Teyla gently patted the colonel's hand, and then turned all her attention to McKay.

"Rodney, you look stronger today. I am glad."

He found he couldn't answer. This was not the first time Teyla had visited, but it was the first time he felt the awkwardness of harsh words said, hanging between them. He swallowed - loudly.

"Is anything wrong?", she asked quickly, apparently alarmed.

On an in-breath, he said, "Teyla... I want to apologise to you... for what I said... that day, at dinner."

Across the room, infirmary equipment was being moved out and power tools plugged in.

"You were not yourself, Rodney.", she said, simply.

"Nevertheless, I would hate for you to think that I meant - even secretly - what I said. I swear it didn't come from me. I respect you, Teyla... you and your people. Your friendship means a lot to me."

She smiled a tiny smile, and looked up at him through dark lashes.

"I came to your room, Rodney... after dinner, that day. I was... concerned. I knew something was wrong, even then."

Rodney felt his heart swell, and on an impulse he reached for Teyla's hand.

Long moments passed as their silence effectively said all they needed to say. Finally, it was the Athosian who broke it.

"Rodney, I forgive you.", and she favoured him with a devastatingly beautiful smile, and went on talking as if nothing had ever been amiss.

"Now, I have something..."

But McKay did not let her finish,

"Teyla, would you do me a favour... please? I need my laptop, can you ..."

Raising a finger to silence him, Teyla reached into the bag she had around her shoulder and revealed the treasure she had brought.

Seeing his face light up with gratitude, she quickly added,

"It's from Dr Zelenka, not me. I do not think you should be working.", she said, disapprovingly.

Rodney ran his hands over the device and sighed happily, then he snapped his head up and looked across the room at the huddle of personnel there.

There were three burly workmen in overalls, looking at the wall with their beady eyes. One had a large sledge hammer, something Rodney assumed denoted his status as head honcho.

"Hey, you ... person with hammer.."

"I'm Arnold, Sir."

He was a tallish, heavy-set man, with graying hair and a small, very-black moustache. Rodney immediately thought of an infamous, despotic German... or was he Austrian...?

Clearing the fluff and fuddle from his brain with a shake of the head, he called across...

"See this, Arnie?" and Rodney waggled his open laptop, "Everything you do or say is going down here, so...just you be careful, ya hear?"

Without a word, Arnold turned his attention back to the wall. Exchanging nods and meaningful looks with his crew, he hefted the sledge hammer and with no preamble, attacked the wall. The other two then added to the horrendous noise by starting up drills and other tools of dubious effectiveness.

"Why will hacking holes in the wall help? There's no finesse, no artistry...", shouted an exasperated McKay, dropping his head in his hands.

"How's a sick man supposed to sleep?"

oOo

TBC and thanks for your friendly reviews...

I wasn't too sure about the style of this chappie... any thoughts?

Part 11 is almost ready... yay!


	11. Chapter 11

oOo

_10.05 Recieved ear plugs. Declined to use them._

Sheppard was awake and looked... well, he looked sick.

He was gray faced, with dully, blinking eyes; propped against several pillows, he was dressed very much in the style 'du jour' of Rodney himself.

(McKay was clinging to the fantasy that their gowns had polka dots; but in fact he knew very well they were spring flowers.)

Their I.V.s also matched, but John had one up on McKay - he still had his oxygen line

"What gives, McKay?"

In answer, Rodney lifted a hand, wordlessly, to show him the scene of destruction that was their sick room. The three men had gone, but they had left a great mess of tools and equipment behind, not to mention a gaping hole. They would be back.

"Oh, " Sheppard said, sounding unimpressed. Then he looked about him, as if seeing their situation for the first time.

"We're... sharing a bed...?", he said slowly, somehow making it both a statement and a question simultaneously.

"Give that man a coconut.", replied a weary McKay.

"Can I ask... why?"

"No room at the inn, apparently. We're stuck with each other... for now, anyway."

Rodney continued, glad to at last have someone to moan at.

"It's humiliating... do you know how many people have been in here with cameras? You and me ... we're now wallpaper on all the Daedalus laptops. Sergeant ..Whats-his-name? - the Brit - he couldn't stop laughing when he saw us..."

He snapped his fingers, then pointed them at John.

"That reminds me... I must ask Carson, he'll know... Who are Morecambe and Wise?"

John just shrugged, looking bored.

"I'm thirsty..." said Sheppard, and he shifted himself, making to lean out over Rodney's space towards the night stand that they both shared.

"Woah, neighbour...! You sit in my lap and you're a dead man, Sheppard! I know what these gowns are like... I know their limits... and believe me, we don't want to go there. Keep to your own side..."

"I just need to reach across you... for the water? no biggie..."

"Oh, no... no, no, no... I'll get it - I insist.."

He scrabbled around, coming up with a clean beaker pretty quickly, and after filling it, he handed it over to Sheppard. Rodney noticed the colonel looking a little green as he slowly drank. He handed the beaker back to McKay, who took it without a word, watching carefully as John breathed steadily through his mouth...

"Don't you throw up on me...!"

Rodney saw John nod and then wince, touching a hand fleetingly to the dressing at his shoulder.

"Are you alright?", Rodney grimaced himself in sympathy. "Sorry about the whole... shooting you... thing..."

Sheppard's eyes were closed, and he breathed slowly, as if counting each breath.

"You already apologised... s'okay."

Rodney's eye brows raised, and he shook his head slowly.

"No... don't believe I did..."

"Oh...I think, maybe... I was dreaming..." and John yawned widely, showing all the signs of impending slumber.

"Really..? You too, eh? I've had some... interesting dreams myself..."

"...w's a beach... ice cream... nice day...", John sighed and wriggled back into his comfy pillows, yawning again.

"Hmm, sounds... nice." Even Rodney had that far away look.

"Yeah... 'til you... tri'...t'drown me...!" He had turned to face McKay, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, and was glaring accusingly at him, albeit drunkenly.

"Hey, now... come on, pal... not my fault, okay? _Your_ dream, right?"

McKay was remembering his own flights of fancy, and he smiled when a certain little flower girl popped right back into his head.

But Sheppard was still wobbling on... and on...

"Yeah, yeah... but... w'so real..._ drowning_... you w_'laughing_... 'n I... I w's _drowning_...", John looked fit to fall off the bed at any moment; waving his hands expansively and appearing ever more inebriated.

"Okay, okay, enough already with the drowning - What has Carson been giving you anyway? - just shut up and listen, okay?"

He cleared his throat, drew himself up as tall as he could whilst still sitting in bed, and turned to John, all serious...

"_I'm very, very sorry, and I won't do it again... promise_.", said McKay, with eyes closed but sounding like he was reading from a cue card.

Grinning his satisfaction, he opened his eyes to find Sheppard snoring gently beside him.

After a quiet moment he sighed and pulled up John's sheets, trying awkwardly to tuck him in.

As he turned back, he was startled to see one of the overalled workmen - the _short one_, McKay named him - slouching beside the bed, his hands in his pockets.

_How the hell did he get there?_

He regarded Rodney for a second or two, then brought out both grubby hands, and deposited two ear plugs on the bed. McKay lifted them with distaste, as the _short one_ retreated as mysteriously as he had appeared.

"And just what are these for? You expec- wait a minute... these have been used, haven't they? Oh, gross!"

oOo

_10.29 Worker A became verbally abusive._

They had coffee... he could smell it.

He sat up, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Ah, there it was... on the floor, a steaming mug... he could see the tendrils of vapour rising and curling. Unconsciously, he willed them towards his nose.

Arnold and his entourage were standing around again, up to their ankles in dust and bits of shattered wall.

"Hey, Arnie... got some more of that?", he was licking his lips already, in anticipation, eyes glued to the mug.

"Sorry, Dr McKay, but we already have our orders... no coffee."

Rodney snorted.

"I suppose that's from the "highland laddie" himself, is it? Well, he's not your superior - I am, so... coffee, please.", he demanded, waving his hands towards himself.

"You don't scare us, doctor...", said Arnold with a sly grin, "'Specially when you're wearing a _dress_...", and Rodney was horrified to see them nudge each other and giggle.

Glancing quickly down and up again, he gathered his sheets around him, pulling them to his chin, suddenly outraged.

"How dare you... I won't stand..."

Then Arnold added in a hesitant whisper,

"You'd best be quiet... or you'll wake the missus.", this last comment had the three men guffawing, slapping their knees and each other's dusty backs.

McKay turned his head and saw Sheppard dozing, his head nodding and snoring softly.

"Alright... that's it! I'm putting that down... Look... see... "verbally abusive"..."

Grabbing his lap top he stabbed at the keys, his hands shaking with rage. He was aware of the men leaving - probably to get more coffee, he thought, testily.

He felt over heated and worn out, desperately thirsty too, he realised. He dropped the lap top onto the bed where it bounced slightly. Then he reached across for the water on his nightstand, and gulped greedily.

oOo

_10.54 Request to medical staff: move to balcony for duration: denied._

_Request for names of workmen: denied._

_Request for clothing: denied._

"Just let me go...", he begged, but the nurse checking his line only smiled sadly and shook her head.

"You can put me out on the balcony - I don't care, but get me out of here!"

Something moved in his peripheral vision, and his head whipped round. Arnold and his men were gathering around the hole in the wall. Rodney almost expected them to start praying; their mood, he thought, was positively funereal.

"Him!", and he pointed at Arnold, "Him and his... henchmen, they're making my life hell."

He sat further up in bed, slightly out of breath, trying in vain to raise his voice.

"I want all your names, pal...", he squeaked, pointing an unsteady finger Arnie's way.

"And - and - they won't give me a drink..", he whined and indicated Arnie's steaming mug.

Patiently, the nurse raised both the full water jug and his glass, from the night stand.

"You do have this, doctor..."

But Rodney was trying to shoot sparks at Arnold just by staring at him, and wasn't listening.

Arnold cleared his throat loudly, glancing briefly inRodney's direction before addressing his helpers, loudly.

"It's not here.", he announced.

"What's not here?", Rodney asked, unperturbed that the statement was not directed at him.

"The problem. It's not in this wall", declared the man with the hammer, his moustache twitching.

"You mean all this... was for nothing?", McKay spluttered.

He didn't wait for a reply, but threw back the bed covers, sending the ear plugs flying.

"Okay... that's it... I'm out of here... get me my clothes.."

Arnie shot McKay a withering look as he followed the nurse out.

oOo

_(continued on paper)_

_approx. 11.00 Forcibly drugged against my will, in contravention of basic civil and human rights. _

_Lap top confiscated._

In breezed Carson, a minion in tow. _Oh, now... now I'll have my way..._

Rodney was still half in and half out of bed, his bare legs swinging.

"Carson, I want this man removed. I have it all down here, you'll support me of course... "09.00 Informed that construction..." "

As Rodney blustered and trembled through his long condemnation of Arnold and all workmen in general, he didn't notice Carson's interest in his pulse rate and temperature. Not until the doctor was sticking something in his ear.

"Oy! What's that for? Have you even been listening to me?" he asked accusingly, rubbing at his ear.

"You have a small fever, Rodney... it happens sometimes during recovery. This, of course, hasn't helped," and he held up the laptop.

He pushed Rodney back into bed, flipping his legs up and under the covers with practiced ease.

Crossing to the nurse, Beckett took something from her and turned back to a dazed-looking Rodney.

"I, for one, have heard enough. Thankyou for coming to me, Arnold, you were quite right...", and only now Rodney noticed the shadowy figure at the door, "Dr McKay is not too well at the moment."

"I'm sedating you for a few hours... giving you some fever reducing meds, and when you wake up you'll be a new man.", said Beckett pulling away the computer, and tucking it under his arm.

"What? I won't allow it...", Rodney stated, indignantly.

Carson waved two empty syringes at him, and said,

"It's already done, lad. Sweet dreams, now."

And as McKay felt drug-induced lethargy creep over him, there in the doorway, he saw Arnold - his nemesis. As McKay watched, his eyes growing heavier, Arnold raised his coffee mug, as if in salute, a smile of triumph quivering beneath his very-black moustache.

oOo

TBC and thanks if you're still with me!

I'm having a lot of fun writing this... and you guys encourage me so much! Thanks!

Just one more to go now - probably not 'til the wk.end... x


	12. Chapter 12

oOo

"I don't like it. I'm not going to lie to you... it's ugly."

Rodney opened the bathroom door, stuck his nose in and sniffed. He thought it smelled like feet. His nose wrinkled. Shooting a sour look at his escort, who remained inscrutably silent, he gave the bare walls and low ceiling a dismissive wave and added a snort for good measure.

Crossing to the balcony, he opened the glass door and stepped out. He sighed, glad to have some privacy, at least for a short while. He propped his butt up on a balcony rail for support, rubbed at his sternum and winced at the niggle of pain in his chest. Alright, he'd been overdoing it slightly. But he was fed up of being on the sick list, and desperately wanted to leave the infirmary.

Even Sheppard had now left to convalesce fully in his quarters. Desperate, Rodney had asked if he would mind a room mate for a short while; John just looked horrified and replied with a firm, 'No'.

His own room had been totalled, of course, and after it was cleaned up and his stuff put in storage, it was now being used more or less as a closet, or dumping ground for any trivial rubbish that didn't have a home; it really wasn't all that secure since it's door had been surgically removed.

Rodney looked out over the calm Lantean sea... at least this one had a balcony. The previous 'property' on offer, had no balcony and was so close to the firing range, it's fixtures vibrated in time to the pistol shots.

Abruptly, Corporal Brent's round face appeared at the balcony door.

With a long-suffering sigh - or was it a yawn? - he asked, "Ready for the next one, Sir?"

Rodney dragged his sorry behind off the railing and followed the soldier out with a nod.

oOo

"How's the house hunting going?"

Sheppard was lounging on his bed, flicking slowly through a golf magazine.

Rodney had seen five rooms, none of which were at all suitable, in his opinion. He had ended up at Sheppard's door mostly because he didn't want to go back to the infirmary and the fussy clutches of Carson Beckett.

"It's not. I give up. I'll sleep in my lab, take baths in the sink, you know... live wild."

Rodney was expecting some kind of response from Sheppard, after that statement, but there was just the soft scuffle of pages turning.

McKay stuck on his most appealing, little-boy-lost expression, "Look, why can't I just... you know, crash here?"

Another awkward silence...

"I told you already, there's no room. Plus you might... cramp my style."

With a shudder at the last comment, Rodney flopped down on the edge of the bed. John eyed him over his book, warily. Rodney caught his look.

"Oh, get over it... we shared a bed already. I'm not gonna snuggle, okay?"

McKay's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed at his neck tiredly. His eyes wandered around John's room. The colonel's possessions, few though they were, were scattered around. Rodney wanted his own things around him. Enough was enough.

"Where is my stuff anyway? I hope it's safely locked away." Then he added in a whisper, "_Marines_, you know..." and he winked, having a quick scan around as if he expected to see one or two of them lurking nearby.

John yawned, and flipped the page of his magazine.

"I think Radek has it", he said idly.

Rodney froze, a kind of choking sound coming from him as he slapped both hands down on the bed and twisted to face the colonel.

"What?! Radek has my stuff, my_ personal_ stuff?"

"Mm-hm... so I heard.."

_Was that an amused tone?_

"Why on earth does he... wait a minute, what have you heard?", he replied, his eyes narrowing minutely.

But John had laid down his magazine, and obviously moved on. He was watching Rodney and wearing a sheepish look.

"What?", demanded McKay, slightly spooked.

"I'm sorry about what started all this."

"What do you mean?"

"You've never called me on it, Rodney, how I treated you, that day... You've been... understanding... - which is _creepy,_ by the way- and anyhow, I don't deserve it."

Rodney fiddled with the seam of the bed cover, and muttered something inaudible.

"I... was a fool. I didn't see that you were sick.. and the reason I didn't see, was that I wasn't looking... paying attention."

John sighed, folding his arms.

"I should have been paying attention, and I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Oh... okay.", he replied, because it really was okay and nothing else needed to be said.

In a flurry of arms, legs and the printed word, Sheppard leapt from the bed. Taken aback, Rodney just gawked open-mouthed.

"Come on..."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see..."

He followed Sheppard from the room and into a transporter. John stabbed his fingers at the pad, the doors closed and they were gone.

oOo

_Oh, rapture..._

It was perfect... It was a lab really. But it also had full 'facilities', _two_ stunning balconies, kitchen area and, being a lab, enhanced power and mainframe access: he could run the whole city from here, if he wanted to.

Woah there...! Not that he wanted to... even a tiny bit. But it certainly was the best room in the house as far as Rodney was concerned. The main hub of the city was close enough to be convenient, but it was far enough away for this to be a haven of peace. Some of the expedition had ventured further afield in the city, and John had mentally tagged this room when he provided security for a maintenance job.

His furniture and possessions were already moved in and Rodney noticed a new bed in the centre of the room.

"Just remember... no funny locks. I've already spoken to the marines and they agreed to cease and desist all hostilities, if you will."

"Yes, yes...", answered Rodney with a little wave. He was too captivated by the view from the high windows, to be paying any mind to what Sheppard was saying.

Rodney breathed a very quiet, "Thankyou.", and John allowed himself a satisfied grin.

oOo

Soon he would have to give up. Ask for help at least - possibly start looking for new accommodations.

He voiced an inner whine,_ but I love this room, I don't want to leave..._

Now the rusty water was running down to the back of his neck... yuck!

Another shirt ruined.

He gave the wrench a twist, still pretending to know what he was doing. It really didn't fit - this tool he was using - he'd found it in one of the workshops. It was a monkey wrench... designed of course for earth plumbing. Wouldn't you know it... Lantean pipes just had to be different.

Something was woefully wrong with the plumbing in his perfect quarters. Rusty brown water dripped from the tap, and no amount of 'thinking' it clean made any difference. Now and again there would be clunking and knocking in the pipes further into the walls - McKay had no idea if that was supposed to happen or if it was probably a bad sign.

Somewhere along the line Rodney had decided it would be useful to dismantle all the fittings under the sink, investigate and modify them if needed, and then put it all back together. Which was, of course, what went on in the science labs pretty much all the time. Only he was having real trouble with the last part, and was laying on his back under the sink being dripped upon by a steady flow of rusty water, surrounded by metal rings and pieces of dismembered pipe.

Rodney tapped his ear with an orange finger.

"Hey, Zelenka... know anything about plumbing?"

There was a pause, and then a definite, "No."

"But I could get someone down to take look?", went on Radek.

"No, no... not yet...I'll manage for now. Oh, and Radek? Thanks for looking after my stuff..."

"Not mention it Rodney. I very much enjoyed seeing... new movies.", and there was the unmistakable sound of sniggering.

Rodney's blood ran cold. Not his well-hidden, classic collection of porn..? Unrivalled in two galaxies, if the marines knew about it, they would soon lose their interest in Oh Henrys...

"Y -You watched my videos...?"

"Yes, we knew you would not mind... But was bit confusing, some have wrong title...and, Rodney, some are... little _scratched_, you know... _rewind, play, rewind, play, rew_..."

Then McKay heard huge guffaws of laughter, that must have meant the whole of Atlantis was listening.

He thought it best to say nothing more, and flicked off his radio, with a sigh.

oOo

"What are you doing here?"

"Heard you had a problem. Maybe I can help."

"How? By knocking a freaking great hole in the wall? No thanks.. I'd rather suffer, if it's all the same to you."

"Well, if you should change your mind..."

'I won't."

"Still... just give me a knock... I'll bring the sledge hammer!" and Arnold winked his beady eye.

_Was that...a joke?_

"A knock? What do you..?"

"Oh... did I not say? I'm just next door... found my little place a month ago, while I was doing some work on the condenser unit ..."

He turned to go, but quickly glanced back at McKay, his face a picture of angelic joy.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood, doctor..."

oOo

There you go that's it... the not very exciting wrap-up chapter!

Thanks to all you who stuck with me, especially Exie, Valexie, Trishkafibble and many more - xxx.

Watch for the continuation of Perf Sk and thanks for being patient with me.


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